PS 3507 
£5437 B3 

1916 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




D0DD3]iflbD3T 



?JJ\ 




• 1 1 








# * ■« 



^' ^^'\ 



'*b^ 











» I "» 






^0 _ %, *o.o* ^^ 




^.^ 








" • 






^\/ %*^^*/ V^^V ^%'^^U 



.^^ /^il^\ u.<.'^ yj^%i^^ \./ ;^^. \^^^ ; 




^ov^ y^3m>^\ ^^Mr^ o'^^^^ix^ ^^.-y 



■* >o 








i^ 






O M 


















<^ 






JSallabs 

anb 

BY 

ELDREDGE DENISON 




BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1916 



.^ 



..^.^ 



^ ". ^'\^N^ 



<7 < 




Copyright, 1916 
Shermak, French Qf Company 

OCT -2 1916 



'C(.A438G72 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

^ Many of the following poems have 

been previously published in various 
magazines, and for kind permission to in- 
clude in this volume such as have ap- 
peared in copyrighted publications, my 
thanks are due to the editors and publish- 
ers of: Munsey's Magazine for " Winter 
Magic/' " Manhattan/' and ** Love's 
Magic"; Judge for "My Friend/' "En 
Route/' " The Poet's Star/' " Just 
Laugh/' etc.; Holland's Magazine for 
"The Cross Road/' "The Star/' "To- 
ward Evening/' " The Journey/' " Pov- 
erty/' " The Tempters/' etc. ; Southern 
Woman's Magazine for " Berry Time " 
and " Good-night " ; Washington Courier 
for " Love's Trinity " and " The Jour- 
ney "; The Parisienne for " The Model/' 
etc.; Holstein-Friesian Register for " Old 
Times and New/' " A Spring Dream/' 
" Alfalfa/' " To the Farmers of Amer- 
ica/' etc.; Farmer's Magazine (Toronto) 
for "Eighty"; Holstein-Friesian World 
for " 1915 on the Farm"; and Life for 

" To " (copyright Life Publishing 

Company). 

Eldredge Denison. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Manhattan 1 

The Lord's Prayer 2 

Winter Magic 5 

The Garden Gate 6 

Sir Robert Grantley's Horse .... 7 

Song for a June Baby 12 

To 13 

My Friend 15 

Alfalfa 16 

"Joe's Annie" 18 

Songs 20 

A Cradle Song 

A Slumber Song 

An Enameled-crib Song 

The Partition of the Earth .... 22 

To THE Farmers of America 24 

The Little Old Woman 26 

Berry Time 28 

Sappho 29 

The Cross Road 31 

En Route 32 

Night and Morning 33 

Memory 34< 

Eighty ^^ 

My Hope 37 

The Model 38 

Lullaby .... 39 

Her Garden 40 



PAGE 

The Neutral 41 

A Spring Dream 46 

The Poet's Star 47 

Life and Death 48 

You AND I 52 

The Star 53 

Love's Trinity .54 

Good-night: Good-morning 55 

April 56 

The Journey 58 

Mother-thought 59 

Thanksgiving 60 

The Turn of the Road 61 

A Summer Walk 62 

Unison 64 

The Story of the Steeple 65 

1915 ON the Farm 68 

Mad Song 69 

Just Laugh 70 

Awake, America! 71 

Poverty 72 

The One Woman 73 

Sanctuary 74 

Old St. Paul's, New York 75 

Betrothal 76 

Fidelis 79 

Old Times and New 83 

" Deep River " 86 

For All Time 87 



PAGE 

Old Songs 88 

I. " Comin' Thro the Rye " 
II. " Come Back to Erin " 

III. " JUANITA " 

IV. " Old Folks at Home " 
V. " The Old Oaken Bucket " 

April's Lady . 91 

He and I 92 

Toward Evening 93 

A Rainy Day 94 

Baby's Journey 95 

Good-night 96 

To A. S. C 97 

Love 98 

Morning Song 99 

Love's Calendar 100 

The First Lesson 101 

For Jean 102 

Love's Miracle 103 

Indebtedness 104 

To Her 105 

Sunset 106 

Contented 107 

The Death op Summer 108 

My Star 110 

Field Flowers Ill 

Sleep Well 112 

Trysting Time 113 

My Song 114 

Love Asleep 115 

Perhaps 116 



PAGE 

The Answer 117 

Heartsease 118 

Good Wishes 119 

Paul Laurence Dunbar 120 

The Land o' Dreams 121 

Her Hands 123 

An Old Love Song 124 

The Return from the Trenches . . . 126 

Hope-song 127 

Hospitality 128 

Ave, C^sar! 129 

In Apple Time 130 

Misunderstanding 131 

A White Christmas 132 

Whither Away, Summer? 134 

Forevermore 135 

Donner's Dream 136 

Dust of Roses 139 

The Tear 140 

Friendship 142 

An Old Story 143 

The Revenge of the Flowers .... 145 

In God's Acre 148 

Margery in the Country 149 

QUATRAINS 

Love's Magic . . . .' 153 

The Turn of the Wheel 153 

Aspiration 153 

The Night 153 



PAGE 

The Tempters 154 

Hope 154 

Experience 154 

Three Are Company 154 

Unfulfilled 155 

The Pool 155 

The Lie 155 

February's Garden 155 

Gossip 156 

Vale! 156 

The Call 156 

Parting 156 

Dreams 157 

Coincidence 157 

B. C. AND A. D 157 



MANHATTAN 

A NARROW window underneath the eaves, 
Where never touch of sunlight comes, nor moon 
May shine to mix the magic of the night. 
But where, across that little patch of sky, 
Sometimes a white cloud smiles, or, in the dark 
Between the chimney-tops, can gleam a star. 
And there, night after night, one sits and stares. 
Up from the depth below is heard the shout 
Of children dancing in the street to some 
Late organ's tune, the call of neighbor wives. 
The laugh of passing women ; and he sees 
The arc's false moonlight lie along the wall. 
The asphalt smell, hot, heavy, holds the air. 
And comes the dull, recurrent sound of trains 
Upon the pillared track. He, city-lured, 
Has seen mirages pass ; and it is still 
A narrow window underneath the eaves. 
Where, weary with vain quests, he sits and 

stares. 
The odor of the town is now the breath 
Of June across the fields of hay ; the sound 
Of voices, those who turn the windrow back ; 
And the commingled rumble of the trains. 
The humming of innumerable bees. 
Again it is sweet summer-time at home — 
And oh, the orchard walk, the little lane, and 

she ! 



[1] 



THE LORD'S PRAYER 

Our Father who art in Heaven. 

O God, Thy Heaven is so far away 

And this poor earth so very sadly near, 

That, in their misery, men cease to pray. 
In doubt that Thou canst any longer hear. 

Hallowed he Thy name. 

Thy temples, shell torn, lift their sightless eyes ; 

The land is all a bloody, trampled sod ; 
Across the sun the glutted buzzard flies ; 

Where men have battled in the name of God. 

Thy Kingdom come; Thy will he done on earth 
as it is m Heaven. 

The world has waited many hundred years 
Its coming, and the weary world waits on ; 

Thy children cry, with choking sobs and tears, 
" O Lord, our God, when shall Thy will be 
done? " 

Give us this day our daily hread. 

Men halt the hand of Plenty on the seas. 

And bar the gate, while Hunger stalks within ; 
The outstretched hands of those on bended 
knees 
Are empty, that Starvation help to win. 

[2] 



And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive 
those who trespass against us. 

And shall we then no more forgiveness find 
Than that we show the butchers of our own? 

Must we appeal to the Eternal Mind, 

Not to the Love a Father's heart made 
known ? 

And lead us not into temptation, 

'Tis those who urge a right divine to reign, 
Who lead the hosts of death. What they 
have done 

In heaping all the stricken land with slain, 
Is claimed as work for brothers of Thy Son. 

But deliver us from evil. 

Thy ministers have blest the battle-flags, 

The guns that hunger for the " cannon's 
food," 
The fields where far the bloody war-line drags ; 
Have prayed " Success," that Thou mightst 
find it good. 

For Thine is the kingdom. 

And yet. Lord God, we must believe — we 
will — 
That, somewhere, far beyond the greeds, and 
hates, 

[3] 



And snarling covetousness of men, there still 
A blessed land of promise surely waits. 

And the power, and the glory. 

Thy power is peace ; Thy glory, peace ; Thy law 
Is peace. We have Thy solemn word 

That they whose might and will it is to draw 
The sword, shall surely perish by the sword. 

Amen. 

To those who strive and die that right may live ; 

Who wage no willing war, armed to defend ; 
Who of their own the best and dearest give 

To aid Thy cause, grant courage to the end. 
That out of this red blaze of war may rise 

A better earth, that fire has purified ; 
That by the blood of every man who dies 

To serve, his sons be nobler that he died ; 
That aching eyes, drained of their final tears, 

May see the dawning of Thy day again. 
If, then, the world may rest through coming 
years. 

That blood, those tears, have not been shed 
in vain. 

Amen ! 



[*] 



WINTER MAGIC 

Desolation in the garden 

Where the royal roses grew; 

Where the crackling seed-pods harden 
In their film of frozen dew ; 

Where the cedar-tree stands warden 
Of the little path we knew ; 

Where the wind comes up and, sighing 
With a voice of throbbing pain, 

Whispers through dead branches, dying 
When the long night comes again, 

And the sleeted grass is lying 
Like a swath of silver grain. 

But the hearth fire bright is burning 
And the kettle starts to sing, 

And the mystery we're learning 
That there is a magic thing 

With the wand of fancy turning 
Winter's evening into spring. 

And again we walk together 
Where the softer breezes blow, 

Side by side, and wonder whether 
Other hearts can ever know 

Of love's garden, where June weather 
Always bids the roses grow ! 



[5] 



THE GARDEN GATE 

Dorothy, I must relate, 
Kissed him through the garden gate. 
And the peonies were quite 
Charmed by such a pretty sight, 
And they nodded, as to say, 
" Come again to-morrow day ! " 
And this little maid of two 
Seemed to know just what to do ; 
When he tried to hesitate — 
Kissed him through the garden gate ! 

Now, once more, a happy fate 
Brings them to the garden gate. 
He is tall, and she is fair ; 
And the peonies, nodding there. 
Turn in wonder, as to say, 
" Surely 'twas but yesterday ! " 
And this maid of twenty-two 
Knows exactly what to do ; 
Seems — just seems — to hesitate 
As he leans across the gate ! 



[6] 



SIR ROBERT GRANTLEY'S HORSE 

The author understands that this was an actual oc- 
currence, and that the horse belonged to Sir Richard 
Gillespie of the British Army. 

The drums have rolled, the martial band 

A stirring march has played, 
And now the " Fortieth " all stand 

As though on dress parade. 

Yet that were nothing new to tell — 

That were a thing of course ; 
But this is why they come — to sell 

Sir Robert Grantley's horse. 

The horse that bore him through the fray 

When every rank was thinned ; 
When many a strong man tried to pray, 

And then forgot he sinned 

To curse aloud when, through the fight, 

He saw the noble brown 
Plunge in his gallop to the right — 

" Great God ! the colonel's down I " 

The angry bullet pierced his side — 

How small a thing can kill ! 
As if he knew his master died. 

The rearing horse stood still. 



[7] 



The hand, all twisted in the rein, 
Grew limp with death's chill damp ; 

The horse he should not mount again 
Could drag him back to camp. 

Though rich in honor, poor in gold 

Sir Robert Grantley died, 
And what he had must now be sold — 

There's little else beside 

For widowed wife and orphan boy 

In England far away; 
It's bitter grief that kills the joy 

Of victory to-day. 

And so the drums rolled, and the band 
A stirring march has played ; 

And now the " Fortieth " all stand 
As though on dress parade, 

Until across the open space 
They lead, with kindly force, 

Into his old, accustomed place, 
Sir Robert Grantley's horse. 

He does not seem to feel at ease. 

He lifts his head and ear. 
As if to ask, " Why, if you please. 

Is not Sir Robert here.'' " 

[8] 



And then, as though the voice he knew 

Had whispered a command, 
He quiets, as he used to do 

In good Sir Robert's hand. 

There's not a speck upon the coat 
The trappings hang about, 

Save one dark spot the soldiers note, 
Yet would not have washed out. 

For every man who did not know, 
Has heard it where he stood — 

The spot that strangely dark doth show 
Is brave Sir Robert's blood. 

" How much is bid? " the seller cries ; 

" A hundred pounds I'll take 
To start the horse that some one buys 

For Grantley's widow's sake 1 " 

" Two hwndred! " is a captain's shout ; 

It is a bid indeed. 
Worthy the man who called it out, 

Worthy the noble steed. 

" Two hundred ten! " the Major cries. 

*' Two hundred thirty! '* Then 
By twenties on, the bids still rise 

And reach *' Three hnmdred ten! '* 



" * Three hundred twenty ' do you say ? 

A * thirty '? Are you done? 
You know you're buying here to-day 

For Grantley's wife and son ! " 

Then the Lieutenant-Colonel cries 

" Three hundred fifty! " when 
A common soldier meet his eyes 

As, from among the men, 

He steps, with hand raised to his head 

And eyes upon the ground, 
And, with a ringing voice, is said, 

*' We give four *under*d pound! " 

Then sounds the " Going ! — going ! — gonei 

The horse is led amid 
The ranks ; among the others none 

Will raise the privates' bid. 

The band plays loud, as play it ought. 

The officers, perforce. 
Have cheered the soldiers who have bought 

Their loved commander's horse. 

For, from his scanty store, each one 

Has brought his share to pay 
The sum that, counted up, has done 

To take the prize to-day. 

• •■•••• 

[10] 



The drums roll loud, the bugles shout, 
A stirring march is played 

Each time the " Fortieth " turn out, 
At home, on dress parade. 

And when he hears the bugle-call, 
There marches, as of course. 

In his old place, among them all. 
Sir Robert Grantley's horse. 



[11] 



SONG FOR A JUNE BABY 

Do you hear the elf-bells ringing 

When you look so far away? 
Can you hear the fairies singing 

Songs they sang some earlier day? 

What star shone to guide you hither 
When you came at love's command ? 

Do you wonder "whence and whither"? 
Little guest from Summerland. 

June gave you her gift of roses, 

Smiling fields, and sunny skies ; 
And each waking morn discloses 

Some new wonder to your eyes. 

Springs shall come, and hopes will thrill you; 

Autumns sad must have their part ; 
But no Winter's cold can chill you — 

Born with Summer in your heart. 



[12] 



TO 

'TwAS at a ball. In vain I tried 

To feel less like a social martyr, 
When, lying on the floor, I spied 

A thing of yellow silk, a ! 

I put a dash there, for 'tis said 

To write it plainly out amiss is ; 
Yet England's motto may be read 

Upon just such a thing as this is. 

I stooped, and hid it in my hand. 

And wondered who might be the loser. 

She could not ask me for the band ! 

How such a question would confuse her t 

Returning with it to my place, 

I wondered if my cheek were flushing ; 

In turn I scanned each lovely face. 
Until I saw how you were blushing \ 

My own perception I had wronged — 

To think that I would not have known her 

To whom this dainty band belonged ; 
No one but you could be the owner. 

So thus I send it back to you, 

Around this bunch of blushing roses ! 

One found it whom you never knew; 
Whose name no hint of mine discloses. 

[13] 



I would not have you guess 'twas I, 

For that might put constraint upon you. 

Perhaps you'll know me by-and-by ; 

Perhaps you'll love me ! When I've won you 

I'll whisper that 'twas I who found 
This clinging silken band of yellow. 

We're strangers, still I will be bound, 
You, and no other, have its fellow ! 

And now may my respect for you 

Plead pardon for these rhyming fancies ; 

For never motto was more true 

Than " Honi soit qui mal y pense " is 1 



[14] 



MY FRIEND 

He was my friend. He understood 
All the vagaries of my mood. 
Say I was joyous, he was gay; 
If sad, he felt the selfsame way. 
He held, with trusty commonsense, 
All that I told, in confidence. 
He died. And now I look around, 
But such a friend is seldom found. 
I miss his kindly presence, yet 
A dog like that is hard to get ! 



[15] 



ALFALFA 

Plow the furrow wide and deep, 
Run it true and turn it fair, 

Far across the sloping sweep. 

As the loam rolls from the share, 

Polishing the mold-board bright 

Till it glistens in the light. 

Follow quickly with the harrow; 

Crush the clods, and fine the soil. 
While the unturned strip grows narrow 

As the sweating horses toil. 
Harrow quickly, lest it harden ; 
Fine the soil as for a garden. 

Sow the seed, and let it slumber 

Warmed by sun and blessed by rain. 

Till the days, in stated number. 
Waken it to life again. 

Then unfolds before our eyes 

One of nature's mysteries. 

On the slope where first was showing 
Just a shimmering haze of green. 

Day by day the shoots are growing 
Till no sign of soil is seen ; 

And the beauty is revealed 

Of a June alfalfa field. 

[16] 



Thicker grown than meadow grasses, 
Firm and fixed it seems to be, 

But when morning's swift wind passes. 
It's a restless, moving sea. 

Wave on wave its fellow follows 

Toward the upland from the hollows. 

When the keen knives cut it down 
Hope of further yield seems vain 

From a spot so bare and brown, — 
Then it greens and grows again. 

Thrice and four times thus it keeps 

Its first promise ere it sleeps. 



[17] 



" JOE'S ANNIE " 

There's a cottage half in shadow 
Of a great horse-chestnut tree, 

Where the road runs from the meadow 
To the Welstead Colliery. 

Where an evening lamp is burning, 
And has burned a year, they say. 

That " Joe's Annie," on returning. 
May have light to find her way. 

Joe can't tell you what bereft him 
Of his simple, trusting mind, 

On the night she went, and left him 
Just a scribbled word behind; 

But his face is strained with longing 
As he tramps the mine-town streets. 

Where the nightly crowd is thronging, 
Whispering to those he meets. 

With a voice that is uncanny. 

So insistent on reply, 
Asking, " Hav' you seen m' Annie — 

Hav' you seen her goin' by ? " 

And the lights are rude and flaring. 
There is clatter from the halls. 

As the crowd goes on, uncaring 
For the one who trips, and falls ; 
[18] 



For it's dance, and song, and never 
Mind the price, nor who's to pay, 

As the glasses clink, and ever 

Sounds the laugh that's ghastly gay. 

And among the wanton many 
Who give love the laughing lie. 

May he never see his Annie — 
Never see her " goin' by ! " 



[19] 



SONGS 

A CRADLE SONG 

Circa 1640 

RocK-A-BYE, Babie ! In j^ tree toppe 
Y^ wynd is a-singinge, y^ birdies doe hoppe ; 
And in y^ cool shayde, in y^ cradle doth lye 
Y^ childe who doth drowse to y^ soft lullabye. 
Rock-a-bye, Babie ! In y^ tree toppe 
Y^ wynd will keepe singinge when Mother doth 
stoppe ! 

A SLUMBER SONG 
1850 

Hush-a-by ! Rock-a-by ! Lullaby-dear ! 
It's time for the pillow, the sandman is here. 
The night-lamp is burning to ward off alarms 
While Mother sways gently her babe in her 

arms ; 
His little head lying so warm on her breast, 
She rocks him, and sings him, and loves him 

to resL 

AN ENAMELED-CRIB SONG 
1916 

In his little crib tucked tight, 
Put out the electric light. 

[20] 



Does he laugh or does he weep, 

Left alone he goes to sleep. 

Modern mothers all agree 

Better for a babe to be 

Unrocked, unsung to, just fixed right. 

Then one kiss, and a " Good-night ! " 



[21] 



THE PARTITION OF THE EARTH 

"Die Theilung der Erde."— Schiller, 1789 

" Now take the world ! " cried Jove, from his 
high heaven, 

To mortals. " Take it for your own to be. 
'Tis thus for an eternal heirloom given ; 

As brothers share in harmony." 

Then hastened each himself to pleasure, 

And young and old bestirred themselves as 
well; 

The Farmer seized upon the harvest's treasure ; 
The Squire's horn sounded through the dell; 

The Merchant sent his warehouse many a 
cargo ; 
The Abbot chose the choicest vineyard's 
wine ; 
The King laid on each bridge and street em- 
bargo 
And said, " The tenth of all is mine 1 " 

Quite late, when all at last had been divided. 
The Poet came from distant wandering. 

Alas ! the choice was everywhere decided. 
An owner found for everything. 



[22] 



" Now woe is me ! Shall I, the rest befriended, 
Forgotten go — I thy most faithful son?" 

Thus he complained; and, as his cry ascended. 
He threw himself before Jove's throne. 

" If thou afar in dreamland have been biding," 
Replied the god, " thou needst not rail at 
me. 
Where wert thou when they were the world 
dividing? " 
" I was," the Poet said, " with thee ! 

" Mine eyes upon thy shining face were turning ; 

Mine ears filled with thy heaven's harmony ; 
Forgive the soul that, with thy glory burning, 

Entranced, the earthly lost, through thee ! " 

"What's to be done?" cried Jove. "The 
world's all given; 

The harvest, chase, the mart, no longer mine. 
But if thou'lt come and dwell with me in heaven. 

As often as thou com'st, it shall be thine ! " 



[23] 



TO THE FARMERS OF AMERICA 

Whose skin the wind has roughened; 

Whose hands are stained with soil; 
Whose thews the task has toughened — 

To yoUf the Lords of Toil! 

You have plowed, and you have seeded ; 

What you reaped, your hands have sown ; 
Hoarding not what others needed. 

When you sold, it was your own. 

Though you never piled up riches, 
Yours was what the miser craves ; 

Though you delved in fields and ditches, 
You have dug no rivals' graves. 

There are those who dwell in splendor ; 

There are those who pass in pride; 
Whose soft hands are white and tender, — 

But for you, these same had died. 

While they strove for wealth and pleasure. 

Toward the false-light onward whirled. 
You have held the greatest treasure. 

In the storehouse of the world. 

And your harvest ripened faster 

Than the crop that greed has grown ; 

Now the one who served is master 
And has come into his own. 

[24] 



His the learning of the sages ; 

His the science of the soil ; 
His the heritage of ages ; 

His the honor-rank of toil. 

And the ones who did reject him, 

Laughing idly in his face, 
Now have learned they must respect him, 

And accord him worth and place. 

And the world that lately doubted, 

Comes at last to understand 
That the men who can't be flouted 

Are the ones who farm the land. 

Whose skin the wind has roughened; 

Whose hands are stained with soil; 
Whose thews the task has toughened — 

To you, the Lords of Toil! 



[25] 



THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN 

The little old woman crept down the dark 
street, 

Crept down to the street where the lights 
were gay ; 
The journey was long for the weary feet, 

So she stopped for a moment on Broadway. 
She saw the throng of the theatre crowd 

From taxi, sedan, and from limousine; 
The pretty young girl, and the matron proud, 

The jewels, and the furs, and the silken sheen. 
And the little old woman said, said she : 
" Shure an' those are not for the likes o' me ! " 

The little old woman went on to where 

A window was blooming, a dream of June ; 
She saw how a rose of Killarney there 

Was lying alone, a flowering tune. 
She prest up close to the barrier glass 

And half way reached with her old, worn 
hand. 
But the guardian pane would not let her pass 

Into that blossoming wonderland. 
And the little old woman sighed, sighed she : 
" Shure an' that is not for the likes o' me ! " 

The little old woman passed over the way, 
She heard the clang of the ambulance bell, 

[26] 



And whispering voices that seemed to say 

How one had been struck by a wheel, and fell. 

Then she rode along on the tires of air ; 

Now the room is still, and the nurse is kind ; 

The roses are nodding a greeting there. 

And the sun shines in through the slatted 
blind. 

And the little old woman smiles, smiles she: 

" Sure an' this is grand for the likes o' me ! " 



[27] 



BERRY TIME 

It is in the merry time — 
Summer-time and berry time. 
Two hands fill the pail, and linger 
As a finger touches finger, 
As the fairer cheek, a-blush, 
Answers now his deeper flush. 
Summer-time and berry time ; 
Such a joyous, merry time! 

As they homeward walk along. 
Walk along and talk along, 
She, with downcast eyes, is paying 
Happy heed to what he's saying. 
Two hands swinging, bold and free, 
Two that must imprisoned be. 
As they slowly walk along — 
Walk along and talk along. 

Ah ! it is a merry time — 
Summer-time and berry time. 
Just before the two have parted 
At the white gate where they started, 
From his lips the berry stain 
Brings the red to hers again. 
Summer-time and berry time. 
Such a happy, merry time. 



[28] 



SAPPHO 

Supposed to have been suggested by a statue 

Thus, on Leucadia's brink, was Sappho placed. 
Her fair, white arms and fairer, whiter 
breast, 
Freed from the garment fallen to the waist. 
Showed purely thus; so one small hand was 
prest 
Upon the swelling bosom ; thus her eyes, 

Filled with despair where love had lately 
shone, 
Turned sadly toward the sympathetic skies. 
Thus Sappho came alone. 

And even thus her tiny, sandaled feet 

Touched lightly on the headland's dizzy 
height ; 
The lovely lips smiled thus, so sadly sweet ; 

The trembling limbs were eager to take flight ; 
Thus, as the robe did further from her slip. 
Was she, whom thou hast made to live in 
stone. 
Beheld by those who sailed the passing ship. 
Thus Sappho stood alone. 

'Twas thus she paused ; the waters smiled below 

A welcome to the one who longed for rest. 
No more the joys of Lesbos should she know, 

[29] 



Where love, now false to her, was once con- 
fest. 
The thought is madness. Memory, which calls, 

Is powerless now to hold, since love is gone. 
Like a white cloud from off the cliff she falls. 
Thus Sappho died alone. 



[30] 



THE CROSS ROAD 

The journey's far to reach a star, 

But worth while when you've won it ; 
The best of earth is little worth 

If one must rest upon it. 
And, after all, to risk a fall 

Is better than to fear it. 
For we prize most what has the cost 

Of effort to endear it. 
"Ad astra " is the sign to show 
The traveler the way to go. 

Now Heaven's way seems long to-day, 

And side paths are alluring; 
With song and smile us to beguile 

From what we are enduring. 
But lest we trip and make a slip, 

We'll heed how we begin it. 
For one can ride to Hell inside 

Of just about a minute! 
And " Facilis descensus " is 
A danger sign we should not miss. 



[31] 



EN ROUTE 

I'li. sing you a song of love, my lass, 

As the train goes rushing on ; 
The sun is low on the hills we pass 

For the day is almost done. 
I'm happy to reckon just one day less 

As that cuts the time in two — 
For a couple of days are long, my Bess, 

To weary away from you. 

I'll sing you a song of the heart, m}^ dear, 

Of the heart that is fain for you, 
That leaps with joy as the time draws near, 

With a beat that is strong and true; 
And all it is saying is " Bess, my Bess ! " 

The dearest of names I know. 
As I ride along in the fast express 

That never seemed half so slow ! 



[32] 



NIGHT AND MORNING 

When the sun is sinking low, 

When the West is all aglow, 
And the stars are ready out to peep ; 

When the wind's ahush, and still 

All the sounds the day hours fill — 
Then it's time for birds and babes to go to sleep ! 

When the sun is rising bright ; 

When the East is all alight, 
And the happy day is just about to break; 

When the breezes dance along. 

And the birds begin their song — 
Then it's time for little babies, too, to wake ! 



[33] 



MEMORY 

The crowded street I walk along 
At noontime of the busy day; 

Alone, unnoticed in the throng, 
I take my way. 

Of all the passing ones who go 
Their ways, I heed not one ; 

They're naught to me, I only know 
That she is gone. 

Then in my quiet room, at night, 
I half dream in my easy chair, 

With eyes closed to the shaded light - 
And she comes there. 

Comes like the fragrance of a flower; 

And all we knew of joy and pain 
Together, in that silent hour 

I live again. 



[34] 



EIGHTY 

Just lead me once more to the gate, boy ; 

Come, lend me the strength of your arm ; 
The days have grown shorter of late, boy, 

But the sun is still pleasant and warm. 

I want to look over the cattle ; 

To see the new mare in her stall ; 
To hear the old pump's noisy rattle — 

I'd like one more sight of it all. 

The farm's changed since I was a lad, boy ; 

New ways and queer notions galore ; 
At first it was strange, but I'm glad, boy. 

That the old way's not ours any more. 

There's another new silo ! How many 

Are needed to keep in the game? 
Well, of all the old things hardly any 

But the sky and the hills are the same ! 

That's a fine cow! A "thirty-two pounder"? 

A daughter of Aaggie, you say? 
I saved her grandam when we found her 

Barbwired in the pasture that day. 

And she was Nell Pietertje's daughter. 

Whose " twenty pounds " then wasn't bad ; 

I remember when you and I bought her, 
The first pure-bred Holstein we had. 

[35] 



So that's the new mare ! Well, I guess, boy, 
You made no mistake there, of course. 

She'll do it in thirty or less, boy, 
Or I am no judge of a horse. 

" In twenty ! " Let's move on a bit, now. 

That's a great bull you've there in the stall; 
The young things are looking quite fit now. 

Do you think you will show 'em this fall? 

I guess I will have to go back, boy — 
" Boy ! " — and you're most fifty-five ! 

I'm on the home-stretch of the track, boy, 
While you're just beginning to drive. 

Well, keep a tight rein on your luck, boy ; 

Drive free, and the pace will not tire ; 
Like me — why I'm keeping up pluck, boy, 

For I'm only a length from the wire ! 

What's that? Why you seem to feel sorry 
That I think the end is in sight ; 

Well, I guess that you don't need worry 
When I know that everything's right ! 

Why, there is no call to be sad, boy ; 

Just look at the thing straight and fair ; 
Now's the time for me to be glad, boy ; 

It's great to have lived — and lived square ! 

[36] 



MY HOPE 

What lies beyond the farthest hill 
When slowly sinks the final sun? 

What hope shall linger with me still 
When those last moments run? 

I know not where my soul shall go, 
Nor what the spirit-quest may be, 

But this will be my hope — to know 
That you may go with me. 



[37] 



THE MODEL 

She gave the world her loveliness, 

She gave it of her grace; 
Through her the artist could express 

The charm of form and face. 

And now she lives in chiseled stone ; 

On many a canvas rare; 
For though her breathing self is gone, 

Her beauty still is there. 

The sculptor's immortality. 
The painter's lasting fame. 

Grow brighter as the years pass by — 
But no one knows her name. 



[38] 



LULLABY 

Mothers sing it, soft and low, 
As 'twas sung long years ago. 
With a smile, and with a sigh, 
Crooning, " Lul-lul-lullaby ! " 

In the hut, when want and care 
Wait beside the mother there. 
She would soothe the wistful cry 
With her " Lul-lul-lullaby ! " 

In the home where love is young, 
Softly to the babe is sung. 
As the rose-light leaves the sky. 
That low " Lul-lul-lullaby ! " 

In the mother-heart, though years 
From her eyes have dried the tears. 
Sings, as evening's hour draws nigh. 
Still a " Lul-lul-lullaby ! " 



[39] 



HER GARDEN 

This was her dearest walk last year. Her 

hands 
Set all the tiny plants, and tenderly 
Pressed firm the unfamiliar soil ; and she 
It was who watered them at evening time. 
She loved them ; and I too, because of her. 
And now another June has come, while I 
Am walking in the shadow, sad, alone. 
Yet when I reach the rose-path that was hers. 
And breathe the fragrancy of bud and bloom, 
She stands beside; the murmur of the leaves, 
The well remembered rustle of her gown. 
And low her whisper comes, " My dear ! My 

dear ! " 
This is her garden. Only she and I — 
But always we — may walk its hallowed ways ; 
And all the thoughts she planted in my heart, 
Sunned with her smile, and chastened with her 

tears, 
Again have blossomed — love's perennials. 



[40] 



THE NEUTRAL 

There was a fine young Irishman, 

Well known as a high liver, 
Who dwelt in Castle Ballygan 

Hard by the Shannon River. 

He spent his days with horse and hounds. 
Or shooting some good cover ; 

Would play all night for twenty pounds, 
And was a famous lover. 

Until, one day, he found that he 
From all his wealth had parted. 

And, save his clothes, had come to be 
As bare as when he started. 

His creditors swooped down in pairs 
And brought the place up standing, 

With a couple of mortgagees downstairs 
And a bailiff on each landing. 

" Well now," said he, " 'tis time for me 
To leave, while none's the wiser ! " 

So he sought a sub-lieutenancy 
In the army of the Kaiser. 

For forty years he served, and we 
May know what progress made he. 

When in that time he came to be 
" General Baron von Grady ! " 

[41] 



He never saw a real war, 

For other nations fought 'em, 
Yet had won medal, cross and star 

At manoeuvers in the autumn. 

Still had war come, by any chance. 

The great machine, perfected. 
Had made the Kaiser " King of France " — 

Or at least 'twas so suspected ! 

He sat, one evening, in his tent. 

Well tired with mimic slaying; 
The band of some near regiment 

On the parade was playing. 

When through the strains of " Wacht am 
Rhein " 

And " Deutschland " there came stealing, 
" Come Back to Erin," low and fine. 

With melody appealing. 

" Begad I " said he, " I'm tired, I fear. 

Of sound of sword and cannon, 
I know I'd far prefer to hear 

The lapping of the Shannon ! " 

Next day he did what evening taught — 

Sent in his resignation. 
And when the acceptance came, it brought 

Another decoration ! 

[42] 



Then home to Ireland straight he ran, 

And landed on a Sunday, 
To find that Castle Ballygan 

Was up for sale on Monday. 

The ancestral acres back he bought — 
(There were some sixty of 'em), 

And two retainers next he sought, 
With Michael Dwyer above 'em. 

Then chambermaid and serving man 
The tarnished trimmings burnished. 

And soon was Castle Ballygan 
(Ten rooms and attic) furnished. 

There, in the evening of his life. 
His warrior-soul grew tender, 

That ne'er to enemy or wife 
Had faltered, " I surrender ! " 

When, bang ! a war was brought about 
'Twixt Britain and the Kaiser, 

And fearful fights were fiercely fought 
On land, in sea, by sky, sir I 

Our General was sore perplexed ; 

He felt the Kaiser couldn't 
Be beaten, yet was sadly vexed 

If he won when he shouldn't ! 

[43] 



" God knows I scorn an Englishman, 

At least enough to spite him, 
But, damme ! if I ever can 

Be really brought to fight himt 

" And every German is a friend 
With whom I have been banded ; 

Sure I can't wish to make an end 
Of those I late commanded ! 

" While fighting me a man may be 

A foe like any other, 
But when he's sorely wounded he 

Is just a soldier's brother 1 " 

And so the General each month spends, 
Though slender still his purse is, 

A sum that comfortably sends 
Equipment for two nurses. 

One serving where " Die Wacht am Rhein " 

Inspires the military. 
The other on the battle-line 

Where they sing " Tipperary." 

It matters little, never fear. 

What song the lads have chanted, 

The heart of God draws very near 
Where the Red Cross is planted. 

[44] 



There is a fine old Irishman, 

A quiet, noble liver, 
Who dwells in Castle Ballygan, 

Hard by the Shannon River. 



[45] 



A SPRING DREAM 

When the first plow strikes the furrow 

As the day creeps down the hill ; 
When the rabbit leaves the burrow 

And the night-owl's cry is still; 
When the pear-tree's bloom is falling 

And the bees buzz from the hive ; 
When the voice of Spring is calling, 

Then it's good to be alive ! 

'Tis the hopeful time of farming, 

With the season well begun ; 
Soon the planted fields lie warming 

In the promise of the sun; 
Then the tender corn comes peeping 

Where you ran the long, straight rows 
To the slope where, from its sleeping 

Wakened, the alfalfa grows. 

Next you see the haymow treasure 

Up its rich, sweet scented store; 
See the silos take their measure 

Till they can't hold any more; 
Hear the stabled milch-cows lowing ; 

Watch the pretty young things thrive — 
And your Spring dream leaves you knowing 

That it's good to be alive f 



[46] 



THE POET'S STAR 

A STAR shone out upon the night 

And sent its ray afar ; 
The poet turned him toward the light 

To find his guiding star. 

Scarce was he called to heights unknown, 
When this thing came about : 

The power-house shut the current down 
The poet's star went out f 



[47] 



LIFE AND DEATH 

'TwAS in that strange and neutral land that lies 

'Twixt sleep and waking, when the soul of man 

Is, for a moment, not of earth, I saw 

And lived the things that I shall set down here. 

Now those who will may call it but a dream, 

A fevered phantasy of restless mind. 

But some, perchance, may read it otherwise. 

I, for myself, have naught to say of it. 

For some things bear not reason, only faith. 

And cannot be explained, or set at rest 

By any subtle argument of mind. 

I only know that it was real to me. 

Dying I lay ! I who had lived, and breathed, 
And laughed, and loved ; and all so easily. 
Fixed was my frame, as though already dead. 
Bound hand and foot by some strange power- 

lessness ; 
Unconscious — so the watchers said — but still 
I heard and saw, and knew the things that 

passed 
About me ; and I felt that then my soul, 
Which for so long had tired of worldly strife. 
Was seeking to escape the mortal. Pain 
Was no longer with me, for a numbness crept 
Upon my fettered limbs ; the heart's light beat 
Was softly slower as the breath grew faint. 
No fear was on me, and no dread of what 

[48] 



The unknown held in keeping, for at rest 
The mind was waiting for the soul's release, 
For death is easy, living 'tis that's hard ! 

And then I heard a voice, that cried " Come 

forth ! " 
Straightway I stood unnoticed there among 
All those who gathered at the couch whereon 
Was lying that which they had known for me ; 
That should be wept that day ; the morrow 

mourned ; 
The third day laid away ; and then — forgot ? 

Then soon they passed out from the dead man's 

room. 
And left me there with it. How strange it was. 
Thus to regard with curiosity 
What, for so many years, had seemed myself — 
That dull, cold, waxen thing, that senseless 

shape, 
On which corruption even then had laid 
A shadow. 

Then, as thus I thought, I saw 
How there, on either side, a figure stood, 
Such as I, surely, had not seen before. 

And she upon the right was wondrous fair, 
Of gentle presence, with her slender form 
Robed in the changing colors of the dawn 
Made stable ; and all garnitured with gems. 

[49] 



Her shining hair, crowned with the sunlight, fell 

A shower of golden gleams from head to waist, 

And from her very being seemed to glow 

A radiance that was a part of her ; 

While on her face, turned full to mine, there was 

A look of tender gladness, such as I, 

Who truly have known little of such looks, 

Had rarely seen, save in the lovely eyes 

Of one who is no more of earth — of her 

Whose going hence had made me long to go. 

But she upon the left was sorrowful, 

And very pale, a figure tall and gaunt ; 

A hungry shape, gowned all in sombre black. 

Sad, rusty garments, tattered here and there. 

And patched with many a piece. The dusty 

feet. 
Toil worn and bruised, were sandaled unalike ; 
The eyes were sunken ; hollow were the cheeks. 
And on the brow were lined the memories 
Of troubled thoughts. 

So, silently, they stood — 
Those strange, contrasted watchers by the dead. 
Then to the fair one on the right, I cried, 
" Farewell, O Life t " And to the other said, 
" Death, I am ready. Lead — I follow thee ! " 

And smiled the black-robed figure on the left, 
A smile of such an untold weariness. 

[50] 



" O soul, hast thou still kept the blinded eyes 
Of earth? Look on these sad and tattered 

robes — 
This poor, patched vesture ; on this brow of 

care; 
These bruised feet, that toiled along the way 
With such uneven footsteps ; one was shod 
Too lightly, and the other weighted down. 
So that they often stumbled. Soul, look here 
Upon this haggard countenance, whereon 
Grief, pain and sorrow ; strivings, broken hopes ; 
All these — and more — through sad, gone 

years have lined 
The chart that tells man's course, when done. 

Behold!" 
And here she swept the garment from her breast, 
And there, within the shrunken bosom, glowed 
A rosy shape of pure and holy light — 
" The Heart of Hope," she said, " The only 

thing 
Of mine that is enduring. I am Life ! " 

Then turned I to the other. She too smiled — 
A smile like morning on the hills of Spring. 
" O soul immortal, I am Death ! " 

And straight 
Away I turned from Life, and followed her. 

And whither? That, alas! I cannot tell. 
Here ends the vision — or the prophecy. 

[51] 



YOU AND I 

We strolled through many a shady way 

That summer afternoon ; 
We watched the sun, at close of day, 

Yield to the harvest moon ; 
We saw her light along the lake 

Shimmer, and fade from sight. 
Nor marked her going, for love's sake 

Had made the darkness bright. 
With none to hear and none to see, 
The wide world held just you and me. 

We walk along the busy street. 

Unmindful of the crowd ; 
We do not see the ones we meet 

Nor hear the rumble loud 
Of passing train and noisy van, 

Nor voice of any one. 
For we, as only lovers can. 

Believe ourselves alone. 
And so we are, because, you see. 
The wide world holds just you and me! 



[52] 



THE STAR 

Every time a child is born 
'Tween the sunset and the morn, 
A new star is hung on high, 
By the angels, in the sky. 
That will ever shine the same 
Just to mark the path he came; 
Till the hour when it shall show 
Him the way that he shall go. 
So, some pleasant night, just try 
To find your own star in the sky. 
Millions shine for babies born 
'Tween the sunset and the morn ; 
And among them, fixed and true, 
One is shining just for you ! 



[53] 



LOVE'S TRINITY 

I LOVE three women. " Dangerous ! " 
You say? Well, that may be; 

Yet hardly strange it should be thus. 
For each of them loves me. 

One has a gentle, pensive face; 

One laughing lips and eyes ; 
One looks at me with just a trace 

Of wonder and surprise. 

One aids me in my work and thought ; 

One joins me in my play; 
While to the third I've always brought 

The best that in me lay. 

I love the most the one I'm near, 

Yet to all three am true ; 
Believe this, for, you see, my dear, 

Each of the three is — You ! 



[54] 



GOOD-NIGHT: GOOD-MORNING 

GOOD-NIGHT 

Gentle sleep, touch her eyes, 

Bid them slowly close. 
Till the light within them lies 

Dreamy in repose. 
As her hand upon her breast 
Soothes the loving heart's unrest. 
May her sleep, untroubled, be 
Sweet for one so sweet as she. 

GOOD-MORNING 

Morning-glow, kiss her eyes, 

Bid them open bright 
With the light that never dies. 

Only sleeps at night. 
Bring the color to her cheek ; 
Curve her lips with smiles that speak. 
May the day that greets her be 
Fair for one so fair as she. 



[55] 



APRIL 

What is the loveliest that April brings? 

The laughing sun between the passing 
showers P 
The morning brightness when the robin sings? 

The longer day, to count more happy hours? 
The earliest blossoms; buds upon the tree? 

I love them all ; yet, loving all the while, 
The loveliest that April brings to me 

Is you, dear, and the sunshine of your smile. 

For 3'ou are April's child. Her moods are 
yours ; 

The shadowing cloud ; the dash of swift spent 
rain ; 
The hopefulness that every chill endures ; 

The tender promise, and the certain gain ; 
So variable, yet so always true ; 

^Vholly without the dull monotonies 
Of natures that reveal us nothing new; 

Your heart is April's, your's are April's eyes, 

I did not dream your coming; and the day 
Of long, gray dreariness was wearied 
through ; 

Until I reached an unexpected way — 

And there was April, dear, and there were 



you! 



[56] 



Now joy abides forever in my heart, 

Where love a song is singing all the while ; 

And when I come to you, though long apart, 
'Tis springtime in the sunshine of your smile. 



[57] 



THE JOURNEY 

The way leads through the hollow 

Where the tangled marshlands lie, 
Where the haunting shadows follow 

And the sunlight seems to fly. 
There is lack of solid footing, 

There's deception in the grass 
Falsely stable in its rooting 

In the depth of the morass. 

Soon the road lies past the meadow, 

Straightaway it runs and clear, 
Where the highnoon has no shadow 

And the joyous soul no fear; 
Where the wanderer goes faring 

Blithely on his easy way. 
Never fearing, never caring. 

That he wastes the sunny day. 

Then the path lifts ever steeper 

And the weary feet drag slow. 
For the dark is growing deeper 

And the doubt begins to grow. 
As he turns half hopeless eyes on 

Distant heavens, starless still, 
Comes a glow on the horizon — 

It is day beyond the hill 1 



[58] 



MOTHER-THOUGHT 

Dear little feet, the path is steep, 

The road winds long, the streams run deep ; 

I cannot guide you far, the task 

Is yours ; the most that I can ask 

Is power to start your steps aright, 

Out of the shadow, toward the light. 

Dear little feet, don't ever stray 

From mother's love too far away. 

Though depths lie low, though heights be great, 

Ways smooth or rough, keep on [ keep straight ! 

And we shall never be far apart ; 

Each cross-path leads to mother's heart. 



[59] 



THANKSGIVING 

The year is drawing to its close, 

For it is chill November ; 
About the house the rude wind blows 

Its challenge to December ; 
But hearts are light, and faces bright 

With all the joy of living, 
For everyone who thinks aright 

Is happy on " Thanksgiving." 

The door is barred against the cold. 

The wind's cry drowned in laughter, 
And as one merry tale is told, 

Another follows after. 
For this one day put care away. 

It's great to be just living, 
And each has some good cause to say, 

" I'm thankful ! " this " Thanksgiving." 

The young, for their bright gift of youth ; 

Mid-age for all that's nearest; 
The old, for knowledge of the truth 

That memories are dearest. 
No pride of race, nor wealth, nor place 

Can make this day worth living — 
Contentment is the saving grace 

That blesses a " Thanksgiving." 



[60] 



THE TURN OF THE ROAD 

They wandered through the poppy field, 

Dreaming the dream of old; 

She listened while the tale he told 
About love's magic shield. 

She was so young, so sweetly fair. 

She followed as he led; 

Unmarked the sun was setting red. 
And soon the dusk was there. 

A star shone through the darkling night, 

And as its message fell, 

He kissed her at the edge of hell — 
And turned her to the light. 



[61] 



A SUMMER WALK 

The robin tells me I am late 

In getting on my way ; 
The house-dog greets me at the gate 

To pass the time o' day. 

No cloud at all is on the sky 
Where, in the young forenoon, 

So dim a glance might pass it by. 
Hangs faint the morning moon. 

I whistle down the village street, 

I whistle in the lane ; 
The cat-bird, from the meadow-sweet 

Calls back to me again. 

Then through the pasture to the hill 
Where dark the cedars grow, 

On, up the stony path, until 
The town lies far below. 

There is no soul to heed my talk 

Nor watch me go along, 
And so, upon my morning walk, 

I sing aloud my song. 

The oriole is swift on wing 

As I go passing near ; 
He too has found it joy to sing 

With just himself to hear. 
[62] 



I care not that no other knows 
Of what I sing to-day — 

And comes a little breeze, and blows 
My little song away ! 

I whistle through the field and lane, 

I whistle up the street ; 
The dog is at the gate again. 

My morning was complete. 



[63] 



UNISON 

The fairest scene is doubly fair 
When you are there, 
And see it too ; 
The brightest moon may only rise 

When to my eyes 
She sends the mystic beams that shine, 
Dear heart of mine. 
On you ; 
And morning lacks its clearest light 

From you apart ; 
Joy of my day, dream of my night — 
Sweetheart ! 



[64] 



THE STORY OF THE STEEPLE 

Founded on Fact 

The slender, tapered spire was almost finished ; 

The busy men had ceased, 
In turn, their toil, but as their count diminished. 

The danger was increased. 

Until but two were left upon the steeple. 

Who wrought at dizzy height 
Above the street where stared a crowd of people 

In wonder at the sight. 

One workman stood with brawny arms extended 

Without the window wide, 
And looked to be almost in air suspended 

Upon the steeple's side. 

The other, and at first it seemed the bolder. 

Was working overhead, 
With feet above the former's steady shoulder, 

Fastening the frame with lead. 

With skilful hand he poured the melted metal 

Where rod and bar were set 
Deep in the stone, that when the spire should 
settle 

They might hold firmly yet. 



[65] 



When by some chance — God knows what was 
the matter — 

He let the lead o'erflow, 
And sent it, with an agonizing spatter, 

Upon the man below. 

'Tis death to him if that man makes a motion ; 

Yet who could bear the shock? 
But one ; and he, with more than man's de- 
votion, 

Stands steady as a rock. 

He feels the scorching mass upon him, burning 

Its way into the bone, 
And not an inch of space is left for turning 

Upon the sill of stone. 

Full on his naked neck it fell; and, clinging. 

It holds with clasp of fire ; 
He dares not throw it off for fear of flinging 

His comrade from the spire; 

Who, crouching, creeps into the belfry, turning 

In time to hold him fast. 
Just as the molten metal, deeper burning. 

Has seared his soul at last. 

'Tis over. And the comrade who, descending. 

Bore him down from the place. 
Unmindful of the wondering crowd, is bending 

Above the pallid face. 

[66] 



Now lift him gently, tender hands, and bear him 

Into the Bishop's house. 
The roof is honored; dofF your hats who near 
him — 

This hero, in a blouse. 



[67] 



1915 ON THE FARM 

No longer goes the pretty maid 
" A milking, sir ! " at morn ; 

No more a dozen men are paid 
To cut and bind the corn. 

The scythe and sickle both are gone, 
No flail for years been seen. 

And even barnyard chores are done 
Quite simply by machine. 

A vacuum milker milks the cows ; 

The cream's not left to rise ; 
A tractor draws a gang of plows 

On farms of any size. 

The hens lay in a patent nest 
That gives each egg a date ; 

And everything must stand a test 
For a certificate 1 

Poor Dobbin's usefulness is past, 

His pace, too slow by far, 
For now the farmer-folk ride fast 

In their new motor-car. 

And Romance hides her charming face, 

Regretting what has been ; 
But ease and comfort rule the place 

That's run by gasolene ? 

[68] 



MAD SONG 

In the lonely night I stand 
With my heart within my hand. 
And I watch it palpitate, 
Watch it palpitate and pant 
With the love that came too late 
To undo the work of fate, 
That denied me all I want. 
All that life would need to be 
Fair as Paradise to me. 

Shall I crush it? See ! it moves t 
Soul, there is a heart that loves ! 
Look upon it ; mark it well. 
Soon it will be cast away. 
Useless as a tongueless bell, 
Joyless as the heart of Hell. 
Listen heart, to what I say — 
She is all life needs to be 
Fair as Paradise to me. 

She has torn thee from my breast, 
Laid thee in my hand to rest. 
Heart that resteth, ne'er again 
Shalt thou beat to joy or grief. 
Thus I crush thee, might and main ! 
There ! 'tis done I Ah, God, what pain ! 
Yet the torture brings relief. 
Since my love she will not be, 
Nothing now is pain to me ! 
[69] 



JUST LAUGH 

A MAN who cannot take a joke 
Should not permit himself to poke 
Fun at his friends' own foibles, lest 
There be a come-back to the jest. 
And, honestly, we would lose half 
The fun without an answering laugh. 



[70] 



AWAKE, AMERICA! 

Ameeica ! The hour is now 

To guard the gates and man the walls, 
Nor wait until the war-blasts blow. 

Until some foeman's gauntlet falls. 
The thunder of the guns, the cry 
Of shell across a smoking sky. 

May not for long be held afar. 
Awake, America ! 

Arm for defense, not war. 

America! Content and right 

Bulwark no land against the day 
When greed and hate may link with might 

And tattered treaties bar no way. 
Sleep not until it is too late. 
Until war's summons shakes the gate. 

Arouse, and bid the day-dream cease. 
Awake, America ! 

Arm for defense, and peace ! 



[71] 



POVERTY 

When poor, my friends all came to me, 

And shunned me never ; 
Their honest faces shone, and free 

Their speech was, ever. 

Now I am rich. And when I need 

More truth, less honey. 
My friends pass by. I'm poor indeed — 

IVe only money. 



[72] 



THE ONE WOMAN 

There must be one to be loved, to be clung to ; 
One to be worshipped, one to be sung to ; 
One to be held in the eyes, in the heart; 
One to be kept from all others apart. 

Is it because her rare mind is the rarest? 
Is it because her fair face is the fairest? 
No, for a hundred far wiser might be, 
Or fairer ten-fold, and pass on, for all me. 

Why is the touch of her hand like a blessing. 
Leaving me cold to all others' caressing? 
Why do I know that the reason I write 
My best, is the wish to stand well in her sight? 

These are the questions that poets have ever 
Asked of themselves but have answered them 

never. 
Though each of them knows that the soul of his 

song 
Is the soul of the woman who leads him along. 

For there must be one to be loved, to be clung 

to ; 
One to be worshipped, one to be sung to ; 
And the song that he loves is the song that he 

brings 
To the one whose heart beats to the song that 

he sings. 

[73] 



SANCTUARY 

When the little limbs are weary, 
Creep to mother's arms, and rest ; 

When the little heart aches, dearie. 
Cuddle down on mother's breast. 

'Tis a comfy place; and, maybe, 

Some day, dear, when you are grown. 

In your arms just such a baby. 
Sleepy-tired, will cuddle down. 



[74] 



OLD ST. PAUL'S, NEW YORK, 

At Fulton Street 
A STEEET of busy life, where, all the day. 
The hurried thousands throng; some keeping 

pace 
Well with the crowd, and those who lag behind. 
And yet a few who pass and leave the rest. 
With nervous step, urged by quick moving 

mind. 
Each makes his way, on self intent, nor heeds 
The scowl, the laugh, the side-glance nor the 

tear. 
The din of wheels, the clang of chain-swung 

iron. 
The drumming of the feet upon the walk, 
Mingle in constant dissonance, through which 
The crowd's dulled voice sends its low overtone. 
There, just beyond, a spot whose silences 
Hush sense of all intruding sound, and where 
The hours, struck on the bell, tell time no more 
For those whose names are wearing from the 

stones. 
The sun, escaped from towering walls, weaves 

shade 
And shine where still the brown leaves lie ; 
Where tree and shrub, held in arrested life, 
Await the promised coming of the spring. 
A way of restlessness : a place of sleep. 
And there, between the two, a barrier 
Impassable, save through the waiting gate. 

[75] 



BETROTHAL 

We are standing now together just outside the 
garden gate. 

Shall we open it and enter in, or would you 
rather wait? 

We can catch a glimpse of sunshine, there is 
just a breath of flowers. 

And the laughing wind is calling from that un- 
known land of ours. 

I could never pass the gate alone if I wanted to, 
for, see, — 

You are holding in your little hand the gar- 
den's only key. 

'Tis for you to say, " Let's enter ! " and it's 
yours to whisper, " No ! " 

For your voice can bid me follow, and your 
word can bid me go. 

But I'm longing for your answer, for it seems 
to me, of late, 

That the only place I yearn for is beyond the 
garden gate. 

I have never seen the garden that I know you 

have not seen. 
Though it may be you have dreamed, as I, of 

what it might have been 
If the right one had been waiting here to enter 

in with you, 

[76] 



For one alone can't pass the gate that opens 

just for two. 
But the right one never came to you, and never 

came to me 
Till the day I found you waiting, and Love 

handed us the key 
That I could not use without you, and I 

wouldn't if I could ! 
And I guess that I can trust you to do what I 

wish you would — 
Say you know that I'm the right one ; that you 

do not need to wait 
Any longer ; that for us two you unlock the 

garden gate. 

But it may be you are timid and half fearful to 

explore 
A place that looks inviting but has unknown 

things in store ; 
For, of course, it is not easy when one does not 

really know 
How long or short the way may be that one will 

have to go. 
Perhaps you think the roses may not always be 

in bloom ; 
That the sun may go behind a cloud and leave 

the place in gloom ; 
That the happy breeze that calls us now may 

sometime die away ; 

[77] 



Well, if that is what you're fearing, why then 

all I have to say 
Is — you'd better trust the key to me, and I'll 

not hesitate 
To put my arm around you, and unlock the 

garden gate! 



[78] 



FIDELIS 

Before the inner palace-gate, 

Where came the King, in robes of state 

To visit the sweet Queen, Fidelis stood — 

The captain of her Guard ; and still 

And silent he stood there, until 

He almost seemed a statue in his hood 

Of steel, with shining armor bright. 

And silver shield, that caught the light 

To shatter it into a shower 

Of dancing gleams that mocked the power 

Of myriad lights which, in the room, 

Half mastered evening's coming gloom. 

There, to the great and outer hall, 

Came many a soldier clad for war; 
And now and then some general, 

With honors won on fields afar, 
Would pause to wonder how this man. 

Fitted to lead some mighty host 
Where battle's stream the strongest ran. 

Could hold so long such humble post. 
And one, who wondered most, once said, 

" Why are thy talents great thus lent 
To such a task ? " With half bowed head 

He answered him, " I am content ! " 

No trumpet tone could call him thence ; 
No voice of scorn might give offense ; 

[79] 



For in his breast stirred naught beside 
The love that seemed too strong a tide 
To hold within that breast confined. 
And yet he spoke not, for he kept 
Locked in security of mind 
The silent thought that never slept. 
And so when others passed him by, 
To fight on field or battlement, 
For all their gains he had no sigh. 
But only said, " I am content ! " 

Then once she passed his way ; and low 

Her whisper reached him, and he knew 
What he had never guessed till now — 

The Queen — his Queen — could love him 
too. 
Then smiled the world to him, and then 

The glory, honors, riches, power, 
Which seemed so much to other men. 

Were nothing to him from that hour. 
For when, with her great woman's-heart, 

The Queen, from far above, unbent, 
He knew that he was set apart 

To serve her ; and he was content. 

One day the City rose. The King 
With soldiery went forth. Alone 

Fidelis stood ; and many a fling 
The passing warriors had thrown 

[80] 



At him who waited there; but still 

He watched, and stirred not from the spot, 
Nor bared his eager sword, until, 

When blazed the battle fierce and hot. 
The gates went down. Then from its sheath 

The great sword sprang, with ring that 
meant 
A welcome to her foes. A breath 

Smiled from his lips, " I am content ! " 

Then at her door he took his place 

And turned to see his Queen within. 
With light of trust upon her face 

That made him eager to begin. 
Then flashed the steel; and, one by one. 

Those who had gained the door went down. 
While from the shield the light still shone. 

Though brighter, clearer, it had grown. 
And when, in one short pause of fray. 

The Queen still closer to him went. 
And near him knelt, as though to pray, 

Fidelis whispered, " I'm content ! " 

And when the King returned, he found 
The Queen in safety. At her door 

Fidelis lay on reddened ground. 

With broken sword ; and there, before, 

Those who had sought to enter — dead. 
The Queen was kneeling by his side 

[81] 



To pillow in her arms his head ; 

And so he rested till he died. 
Nor King nor courtier heard the voice 

That whispered, with its power all spent, 
" Mj queen — my love ! This was my 
choice — 

To die for thee ! I am content ! " 



And on the marble of the monument 

They raised where they had laid his urn to 

rest. 
Was graven by the sorrowed Queen's behest, 

" FlDELis." And beneath, " I am content.'' 



[82] 



OLD TIMES AND NEW 

Long years ago, before your day or mine, 
When verse was poetry and cows were kine ; 
When kirtled milk-maids waited there to see 
" The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea ;" 
When Mary went " to call the cattle home," 
And " Cusha ! cusha ! " coaxed them not to 

roam; 
When cows had simple names, both short and 

pretty. 
Like " Whitefoot," " Lightfoot," " Dairy-lass," 

and " Betty " ; 
When lads and lassies, 'neath the winking stars. 
Whispered their love across the pasture bars ; 
A poet really had some sort of show 
To shine in verse — but that was long ago ! 

To-day the lowing cow lows in her stall 
And does not wind her way afar at all ; 
Stabled by day, and just turned out at night, 
She's better off than having flies to fight; 
Is treated like a lady, not a brute ; 
Milked by a college man in a white suit. 
Watched by another from the station sent 
To weigh her milk and test its fat content. 
She has a name to drive a poet insane — 
"Lieuwkje Mechthilde Aaggie Houwtje 
Wayne ! " 

[83] 



While " half the herd " has one that is as bad, 
Like " Farmstead Lass De Kol Satiric Lad ! " 

But if the romance and the poetry 

Aren't now in farming as they used to be, 

The modern husbandman can truly thank 

The change for his nice balance in the bank. 

And on a business basis runs the place 

Instead of letting it set him the pace. 

His house has running water and steam heat. 

Electric light and telephone complete. 

While better roads, that cut the journey down. 

Have put the farm a short half hour from 

town, 
And, altogether, he and his good wife 
Are really getting something out of life. 

Yet, in the winter, when the fire is low, 
Sometimes we see, where red the embers glow. 
The pretty milkmaid tripping down the lane ; 
The reapers thrust their sickles through the 

grain ; 
The flail, with rhythmic beat, fall on the floor; 
The old mill-wheel turn, dripping, 'round once 

more; 
As, one by one, the old-time pictures rise. 
When memory lays soft fingers on our eyes. 
But as the last sparks in the ashes fall, 
We think of plumbing, lights, steam-heat, and 

all 

[84] 



The things with which the " Good Old Times " 

weren't blest, 
And " Good New Times " then, somehow, seem 

the best ! 



[85] 



" DEEP RIVER " 

Violin Record by Maud Powell 

Softly from the wakened strings 

Comes the low voice of the river ; 
Sad the message that it brings, 

While your sweet lips droop and quiver, 
From the depths where shadows lie, 

Hidden places without sun, 
Memories that will not die 

While the river still shall run. 

Now there sounds a happy strain 

Lilting merrily along, 
And your smiles have come again 

With the joyousness of song. 
Hope is what the music sings. 

Laughing lips and shining eyes, 
Promises of longed-for things. 

Of the love that never dies. 

Then a wondrous harmony. 

Chords that draw us still more near ; 
In my arms rest close to me — 

It is sweeter thus to hear. 
Now our lips have met, and cling ; 

Joined our kindred souls as one; 
And our hearts love's song shall sing 

While the river still shall run. 

[86] 



FOR ALL TIME 

So many hundred years ago we met — 
As shown me in a dream the other night, 
When that fair scene was opened to my sight — 
I do not wonder that you should forget 
Our meeting in the long-ago ; and yet 
I half believe that, if you would, you might 
Lure back some memory from far off flight 
And read the horoscope that then was set. 
For, sometimes, in the look that you have had 
When I have gazed deep down in your dear 

eyes, 
To read the eternal love that in them lies, 
I thought you did remember, and were glad 
To know, in spite of all the change that came, 
Our star shines on ; that love is still the same. 



[87] 



OLD SONGS 

(Tableaux vivant) 

I 

" COMIN' THRO' THE RYE " 

The picture tells the reason why 
He could not help but kiss her, 

As she was coming through the rye, 
Hoping he would not miss her. 

He saw, with something like relief, 
What made his heart grow bolder, 

That both her hands held fast the sheaf 
Of rye upon her shoulder. 

Because, you see, her lips would be 

Left thus quite undefended. 
Now do you think she guessed that he 

Would see, or just pretended? 

Then, as the sheaf was tossed away. 
He held her hands and told her 

The things that lovers always say. 
Her head upon his shoulder. 

And though with blush and downcast eye. 
She warned him not to do it, 

He kissed her coming through the rye — 
And after she came through it ! 

[88] 



II 

"COME BACK TO ERIN" 

The greatest patriots in the world 
The old green isle supplies, 

And Erin's banner is unfurled 
Next every flag that flies. 

When we come here the door is shut 

Upon the way we came ; 
We sing " Come Back to Erin ! " but 

We stay here just the same! 

Ill 
"JUANITA" 

Its style is old, this song we sing 
For memory's sake to-night ; 

You might prefer some modern thing. 
This may not ring just right. 

Yet as you hear the melody, 

Old fashioned as it is. 
The simple words that used to be 

Set to a tune like this, 

Down in your heart you will confess 
This truth at any rate — 

The song that sings love's tenderness 
Is never out of date. 

[89] 



IV 
" OLD FOLKS AT HOME " 

An ancient story, seems to me, 

This song is all about ; 
The old folks stay at home ; you see 

The young folks have gone out. 

Now, that's old fashioned, isn't it? 

To-day it's different, quite ; 
No woman hugs the fire to knit, 

No man's home every night. 

Now equal rights give to each one 

So many things to do, 
That growing lonely, left alone. 

The hearth-fire goes out too ! 

V 
"THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET" 

There are no oaken buckets now — 

And mighty little oak ; 
The old well-sweep is far too slow, 

And so it has " gone broke." 

We pipe our water in to-day, 

We have no time to waste ; 
That beats a well for speed — but, say, 

We somehow miss the taste 1 

[90] 



APRIL'S LADY 

Shade and shine mark April's day ; 

Blows the breeze with laugh and sigh ; 
Soon the sun shall dry away 

Every tear from April's eye. 

April's lady, fair and sweet, 

Tripping through the meadow grass, 
Sees the daisies at her feet 

Bend to touch them as they pass. 

Symbol-flowers, that rarer be 
Than the richest gardens hold, 

Petalled with sweet modesty. 
And, within, a heart of gold. 



[91] 



HE AND I 

He and I were friends in the old school-days, 
When our hearts were young and light; 

And then we went on our several ways, 
Till I saw him the other night. 

We passed, for a meeting was not for us. 
For the space was wide between ; 

I was atop of a Riverside bus, 
And he in his limousine. 

The traffic had held us beneath the glare 

Of the lights on the Avenue, 
And as we were halted a moment there, 

I saw that his car held two. 

A woman — his wife? — was by his side. 
And haughty and cold seemed she, 

While I was having a heavenly ride 
With the girl of my heart by me. 

Those two were looking just straight ahead. 

And of life they gave no sign. 
While we were sitting '' up close " instead. 

With her little hand in mine. 

And I wondered if he, with all his style, 
Were as happy and free from care, 

As I who could own the world for a while 
At the price of a ten cent fare. 

[93] 



TOWARD EVENING 

To-day I see the face of her, 
The gentle, slender grace of her, 

As first I saw her years ago ; 

And I shall ever see her so, 
For none can take the place of her. 

My heart it is the heart of her, 

A living, loving part of her; 

Or sad or gay her mood is mine. 
Yet all unconscious of design 

The wondrous artless art of her. 

Her breath it is the breath of me. 

The very life, the death of me. 

When it shall languish once for all, 
Its sigh shall be the follow-call 

To me, to the glad wraith of me. 

My soul it seeks the soul of her. 

As years demand their toll of her, 

They bring the welcome hour more near 
When, from my limitations clear, 

I'll understand the whole of her. 



[93] 



A RAINY DAY 

Love came to my window and tapped on the 

pane, 
Saying " Let a chap in, it is going to rain ! " 
Now I was contented to be alone, yet 
I just couldn't leave the boy out in the wet. 
And so he came in ; and he hung up his bow 
And his arrows, and sat by my side, don't you 

know. 
The rain was soon over, and out came the sun, 
And the clouds went a-sailing away, one by one. 
Then Love took his bow and his arrows, but 

sent 
A sharp one to hurt me, as onward he went ; 
And the fire has gone out, and I'm lonely again. 
And find myself wishing 'twere going to rain ! 



[94] 



BABY'S JOURNEY 

I CANNOT tell you where she went — 
'Twas in her dreams, you know; 

None but a child is ever sent 
Where sleeping babies go. 

We watch her peaceful slumbering, 

And every little while 
Is shown us that most lovely thing — 

A sleeping baby's smile. 

How she comes back no grown-up learns. 
Nor whence the path she takes; 

Her head upon the pillow turns — 
The sleeping baby wakes ! 



[95] 



GOOD-NIGHT 

Good-night ! Though you are far away 

And I alone am here, 
Somehow the very words I say 

Have power to bring you near ; 

And in the quiet of the place 

One happiness I seek — 
I close my eyes to see your face, 

And almost hear you speak. 

Good-night ! I breathe a little prayer 

Before I go to sleep, 
That God may hold you in His care, 

His Angels watch may keep 

Beside your bed ; that sweet repose 

Be yours till morning light ; 
That happy dreams your eyes may close. 

And waken them. Good-night ! 



[96] 



TO A. S. C. 

North Loup, Nebraska 

I THANK you for the kindly thought, 
The handshake and the smile, 

Which to the busy East have brought 
Your breezy Western style. 

Sing on, and never mind who hears, 
The joy is still 3^our own; 

What woodland warbler ever fears 
Because he sings alone? 

Though us unyielding distance parts. 
These things to both belong — 

The brotherhood of kindred hearts, 
The fellowship of song. 



[97] 



LOVE 

I LOVE thee not for days, nor years, nor time; 

For there can be no limit to the love 
That grows with every heart-beat more sub- 
lime, 

That lifts the thought of one poor soul above 
The level of itself ; that sanctifies 

The task of living. Let me take your hand 
A moment — so — and look into your eyes. 

I cannot speak, but you will understand. 
For neither words nor whispers with half 
breath 

Can tell you how your wondrous love has 
blessed ; 
But by my life, perhaps, or by my death. 

The inexpressible may be expressed. 



[98] 



MORNING SONG 

Arise I Arise !' Have you not heard 

Glad day's awakening? 
Now every little baby-bird 

Is learning how to sing. 

The morning-breeze, so soft and clear, 

A fairy-story tells, 
And in the garden you can hear 

The Canterbury bells. 

The brook runs laughing down the glen ; 

White clouds go sailing by, 
And throw such dancing shadows when 

The sun is in the sky; 

The humming-bird, on unseen wings. 

Seeks honey with the bee — 
Come out! There are so many things 

For you to hear and see I 



[99] 



LOVE'S CALENDAR 

True love lives but a single day — 

Yet what is held within it ! 
A year of time each second's sway, 

While sixty make its minute ! 

Love's year would bring a world to age, 
Ten, send a star to slumber ; 

Love's calendar has but one page. 
Which bears a single number. 

Though this no lover can gainsay, 
He need no trouble borrow; 

Love's life is one eternal day. 
With one date, no to-morrow. 



[100] 



THE FIRST LESSON 

It was not I who silence broke, 
My lips no word of love let fall ; 

Instead, it was my heart that spoke 
To yours, and told you all. 

You gave me no replying word, 
No blush of cheek to show a sign, 

And yet I knew ; the stillness heard 
Your heart respond to mine. 

A little while, and you shall learn 

The tender words that trust will teach, 

And, w^th fond confidence, will turn 
Their sweetness into speech. 



[101] 



FOR JEAN 

ON THANKSGIVING DAY 

Of course you don't remember, 

But I guess the others do, 
A day in that November 

When the world was new to you. 

In the garden you were taken 
From, the sweetest babies grow, 

And the angels' kisses waken 

Them from slumber, don't you know. 

They brought you here to Mother, 
And they left you in her care; 

And she knew that such another 
Baby wasn't anywhere ! 

You had just started living. 
And you hadn't any name ; 

But truly 'twas " Thanksgiving " 
When, ten years ago, you came! 



[102] 



LOVE'S MIRACLE 

I REACHED a way of ice and snow, 

A barren waste, where all had died ; 
Then summer-winds began to blow, 
And flowers along the path to grow, 
For you came, walking by my side. 



[103] 



INDEBTEDNESS 

You owe me nothing, Life ; I've had 
All you could offer, day by day ; 

The gay, the sad, the good, the bad, 
I've taken as they came my way. 

But, Life, I know that I will be 
In debt to you when we shall part. 

For, full and free, you gave to me 
The treasure of a woman's heart. 



[104] 



TO HER 

I SEND to you no orchid rare — 

Its value were its cost ; 
I know that you would never care 

For that where price is most. 

I do not offer you a rose, 
The flower of fond desire ; 

Too soon the perfumed petals close, 
And fades its heart of fire. 

I plucked a lily, stately cold. 
But from my hand it slips ; 

That were too chill a thing to hold 
Its chalice to your lips. 

And now I seek, half hid from view. 
In this sweet modest spot. 

The only flower I'll give to you — 
Just a forget-me-not. 



[105] 



SUNSET 

The great, red river rolled its golden flood 
Upon the crimsoned waters of the bay, 
Where, clinging to a cloud, the tired sun lay. 
As hesitant to trust that sea of blood. 
While there, upon the rocky shore, I stood. 
Awed by the burning funeral-pyre of day. 
There passed, swept by the ruddy tide away, 
A fair face, staring from a snowy hood. 
The glowing light lent color to the cheek 
The water pillowed but polluted not ; 
The lips were parted, as though moved to 

speak ; 
It seemed that from those open eyes there shot 
A glance to bid me follow; as though she 
Held still, in death, her old, sweet coquetry. 



[106] 



CONTENTED 

Let greater ones their message bring, 
For which the world has waited long, 

I am contented just to sing 
My little song. 

Nor care I if, by later art, 

The strain too simple seems to be, 

I sing it now as in my heart 
It sang to me. 

And if it tempt a single smile 

Or dry a solitary tear, 
I shall account it well worth while. 

Though few may hear. 



[107] 



THE DEATH OF SUMMER 

Theee is dust along the highway, 

There's a brownness on the grass ; 
There's a rattle in the by-way 

As the mullein-stalks we pass. 
All the meadow-land is hazy, 

Dim the hills and far away ; 
Every living thing seems lazy 

With the languor of the day. 
And the sumach leaves are lying 

Like a dreadful splotch of blood. 
On the hill where Summer, dying. 

Holds the faded golden-rod 
Like a tarnished scepter, clinging 

To a glory that is past. 
Through the fleeting day now bringing 

Her bright reign to end at last. 

Once it was they came and gowned her 

In a mantle green and gay. 
With the sunlight's gold they crowned her, 

Strewing roses in her way. 
Now she draws her robe about her. 

Frayed and stained, and yields the throne, 
And the Hours run on without her. 

Leaving the poor Queen alone. 
For they see where one comes dancing 

Through the woodland, wanton fair, 

[108] 



With her eyes of boldness glancing, 
With the vine leaves in her hair ; 

And they hear her tales of wonder, 
And they trust her cunning lies, 

As she leads them over yonder, 
Past the hill where Summer dies. 

Now the Days are all a tingle 

With the sparkle of the air, 
As the grapey odors mingle 

With the apple everywhere ; 
And they take the path she's taken, 

And they do as she has done, 
Till one morning they awaken 

Just to find that she is gone. 
Then they hug the sheltered places 

And they fear to venture forth. 
For the sting is in their faces 

And the wind is from the north ; 
And the snow is roughly shaken 

From the storm-cloud, far and wide. 
For the King his stand has taken 

On the hill where Summer died. 



[109] 



MY STAR 

I HAVE no song to sing to-night, 

For thought has wandered far ; 
My eyes, in darkness, strain their sight 
To seek a star. 

To seek, through all the empty space 

That is about me now, 
The lovely brightness of one face. 
Of one white brow. 

Shine on t Though other happier eyes 

Such radiance may see. 
The starry way to Paradise 
Is kept for me. 

Until shall come a kindlier night 

The cloud-gates to unbar; 
When I, with nearer, clearer sight, 
Shall see my Star ! 



[110] 



FIELD FLOWERS 

Cowslips and clover, 

Sent me to-day ; 
Now May is over, 

June on the way. 
" Take her kiss, lover ! " 

Is what they say. 

First her lips blessed them, 

Sending the kiss ; 
Then her hands pressed them. 

Each as it is. 
I have confessed them — 

They told me this. 

Cowslips and clover 
Whisper her thought ; 

Prized ten times over 

For what they brought. 

Truly I love her ; 
Surely I ought ! 



[Ill] 



SLEEP WELL 

Good-night ! And when the drowsiness 

Is drifting into sleep ; 
When cheek and brow the pillow press, 

And breath comes long and deep ; 
When darkness holds you in its arms, 

Secure from prying light, 
Then comes the tender dream that charms. 

Sleep well, Sweetheart, — Good-night. 



[112] 



TRYSTING TIME 

The sun is up ; the sky is blue ; 

The world is on its way ; 
And only waits a sight of you 

To know a perfect day. 
The leaves are laughing in the wind, 

The birds sing merrily ; 
So, dearest dear, be not unkind, 

But come along with me. 

There is a little path we know, 

Half sunshine and half shade, 
Where red the checker-berries grow 

And fairy-rings are made. 
There out of sight and with no fear 

Of listeners, we may be, 
So, sweetest sweet, if you would hear - 

Just come along with me. 



[113] 



MY SONG 

I PLAYED on a pipe that was borrowed 

From one who had laid it aside; 
I sang of the hearts that had sorrowed, 

Of those who had loved and had died. 

But no one gave heed to my playing, 
And none would lend ear to my song, 

For I sang what all had been saying, 
And played the old tunes overlong. 

So I'll cut me a reed from the sedges. 

That, rocked by the wind, strong has grown, 

And there, where no memory hedges, 
I'll sing me a song of my own. 



[114] 



LOVE ASLEEP 

Little Love is fast asleep — 

Kisses tire, and laughter too. 
Little maiden, do not weep, 
Let Love's slumbering be deep ; 
He will wake to joy anew. 
He will wake to smile on you. 
Let Love rest awhile. 

See, his cheek is rosy red. 

Listen to his breathing low ; 
Do not fear that Love is dead, 
Pillow on your breast his head ; 
Be content that he can know 
Dreams of none but you ; and so 
Let Love sleep awhile. 



[115] 



PERHAPS 

Perhaps, dear, you and I, 
Before God bids us die, 
Out of his goodness, may 
Live one long, perfect day 
Together — you and I. 

Perhaps, love, you and I, 
In some strange by-and-by. 
May know a better rest 
For waiting, and be blest 
Together; you and I. 



[116] 



THE ANSWER 

" Good-night ! " You are too far away 
To hear the words I whisper low, 

And yet whatever I shall say 
It seems that you must know. 

For every loving, tender thought 
That bade your heart less lonely be, 

Had missed its mission had it brought 
No message back to me. 

" Good-night 1 " My whisper brings you 
near, 

I almost hold you in my sight, 
And, in the silence, I can hear 

Your answering " Good-night ! " 



[117] 



HEARTSEASE 

There never now shall come to me 

A little child to still 
The mother-longing that must be 

Without responsive thrill. 

I may not whisper, dear, to you 

The secret that I would. 
Though it is sweet to feel it true 

That you have understood. 

But from my heart you now shall hear 
Why still my lips have smiled : 

This lack has made you doubly dear, 
My husband — and my child. 



[118] 



GOOD WISHES 

I COUNT not what may come to you 

Of others' praise or scorning, 
From me you have this greeting true — 
" Good-morning ! " 

I know not what the hours have brought 

Of loss or gain, yet I will say, 
In passing, with a hopeful thought, 
" Good-day ! " 

I cannot tell what may await 

You next of joy or sorrow. 
But I will bid you, parting late, 
" Good-morrow ! " 

I may not guess what sleep may bring 
Of restless dreams or visions bright. 
Still wish you now a comforting 
" Good-night f " 



[119] 



PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 

Written on a photograph of the colored poet 

As on the darkest face of night 

Shall blush the wooing of the morn ; 
As God's eternal stars of light 

An ebon background do not scorn ; 
As both the dawn and starlight are, 

Contrasted with the shadow, far 
More wonderful and bright. 
So what is shining on this face, 

Across its darkness surely brings 
A morning-promise, for a race, 

A harbinger of brighter things. 
Wake, hope ! The morn is in the sky ; 
Wake, hearts ! The night is passing by ; 

Dunbar still lives, and sings ! 



[120] 



THE LAND O' DREAMS 

When from the day of toil we're free 
And dull the tired world seems, 

Then take my hand and come with me 
Into the Land o' Dreams. 

And as the rose-cloud lifts to show 

Its beauties to our eyes, 
Then, side by side, we too shall know 

The poet's paradise. 

We shall set foot upon the way 
That leads up to the height 

Where we may stand, at dawn of day. 
Bathed in the magic light. 

To see the mysteries unfold. 

Undreamed of until now ; 
To learn of wonders yet untold. 

That earth can never show. 

Where, high above the nesting crag, 

The great war-eagle flies. 
And giant fingers strive to drag 

The dawn-mist from the skies ; 

Where, far below, the valley-land 
Still in the shadow sleeps. 

Unmindful of the shining band 
That down the mountain sweeps ; 
[121] 



To show us that whatever we seek 

It lies our path along — 
The calm contentment of the weak, 

The struggle of the strong; 

To tell us that though steep the way 

And ever rougher so, 
There is a longer, brighter day 

The higher up we go. 

And though we may not always dwell - 
Not yet — in wonderland, 

The road to it we know full well. 
For we can understand. 

And every time we journey there. 

The task more easy seems 
To bring a store of treasures rare 

Back from the Land o' Dreams. 



[122] 



HER HANDS 

YouE hands — they are still mine to hold, 

To caress ; 
So slender that I can enfold 

And may press 
Them in mine to the heart that you know, dear 

Your hands, as they rest on the keys. 

Seem to bless 
Sound itself in the old melodies. 

None the less 
Are they sweet because heard long ago, dear. 

Your hands are not shapely and white, 

I confess ; 
Yet beautiful hands in my sight. 

For I guess 
How labors of love made them so, dear. 

Your hands — I can see them touch now 

A stray tress 
Of the hair that lies gray on your brow. 

Loveliness 
Lies too where the little lines show, dear. 

Your hands — they are still mine to hold. 

To caress ; 
No jewels — just a plain band of gold — 

For their dress ; 
But the hands of my Lady, I vow; dear ! 

[123] 



AN OLD LOVE SONG 

I WONDER what was in it 

That its note could touch me so ; 
A tune upon a spinet, 

Sounding from the long-ago. 
And the strangest thing about it 

Was that no one on it played, 
For the melody, without it. 

Rang to words that softly said, 

" / love thee! And thou askest why? 

Ask of the stars above thee. 
They know, perhaps, the reason; I — 

/ only know I love thee! ** 

Then, it seemed, a hand, so slender, 

Rested on the yellowed keys. 
As the music grew more tender. 

Like a wreath of melodies ; 
And the spirit-voice kept ringing 

Till the tears were in my eyes. 
For a singer, dead, was singing 

Of the love that never dies. 

'Twas the echo of a passion 
Heard a hundred years away; 

Though the spinet's out of fashion. 
Yet the theme is new to-day, 



For the tender words endear it 
To our hearts in accents low, 

And the world will love to hear it 
Still, a hundred years from now. 

" / love thee! And thou ask est why? 

Ask of the stars above thee. 
They knoWy perhaps, the reason; I — 

/ only know I love thee! '* 



[125] 



THE RETURN FROM THE TRENCHES 

Argonne, 1915 

" Br-r-rum ! Br-r-rum ! " The soldiers come 

With ragged step to beat of drum. 

The folk run out, with cheer and shout, 

And dogs and children run about. 

" Br-r-rum I Br-r-rum ! " The soldiers come, 

But from their ranks are missing some. 

" Dead ! Dead ! " No word is said, 
We hear it in the broken tread. 
A victory was gained, but see 
Where those are weeping silently. 
" Dead ! Dead ! " No word is said 
As lips go pale and eyes grow red. 

" On ! On ! " To-day is one ; 
To-morrow finds the task undone. 
To starve and strive in bloody drive 
Is still the work for those alive. 
" On ! On ! " Or sire or son. 
The dead man is the lucky one ! 

" Br-r-rum ! Br-r-rum ! " The last have come, 

And faintly beats the distant drum. 

The clattering feet forsake the street, 

But still the echoing walls repeat 

" Br-r-rum! Br-r-rum! " The dead have come. 

And march in to the ghostly drum ! 

[126] 



HOPE-SONG 

On many another page I've sung 

A song of yesterday, 
On themes that I have found among 

Sad thoughts long hid away. 

Now I will sooner sing the song 
That has no note of sorrow, 

No vain regret, no sense of wrong — 
The hope-song of to-morrow. 



[127] 



HOSPITALITY 

Little Love just came my way — 
Bleak the March wind blows. 

Why he chose a chilly day 
Goodness only knows. 

But my heart was open wide — 
Tell the tale once more ; 

Little Love just came inside 

To warm — and closed the door I 



[128] 



AVE, C^SAR! 

There's a voice that never shall be stilled 

By the silence of the sword, 
That cries of pledges unfulfilled — 

An empire's broken word. 

There is a darkness on the sky. 

Where smokes from homesteads roll 

Across the sun ; that, drifting by. 
Leaves a shadow on your soul ! 

There is a sight that shall remain 
Through all that you contemn, 

For reddened hands have touched, to stain. 
An imperial diadem. 

And, as time takes the final toll. 

The record will go down — 
A broken pledge ; a shadowed soul ; 

A triple-tarnished crown ! 



[129] 



IN APPLE TIME 

Your gift is something that I can 
With fond assurance grapple, 

Though trouble, when this world began, 
Commenced just with an apple! 

But you have turned the thing around, 
For your dear self first taught me 

How I, by love, was firmly bound 
Ere you the apple brought me. 

Its cheek is smooth, with rosy flush 
Just where the sun shone on it, 

As I have seen the brighter blush 
Seek yours, and rest upon it. 

And while the perfume seems to be 
Its own, it would have missed it. 

But that, before you gave it me. 
Your sweeter lips had kissed it. 

And so it breathes a message clear ; 

You may be sure I heed it. 
For I am writing to you here 

My answer. Can you read it.? 



[130] 



MISUNDERSTANDING 

It was a tiny cloud that swept 
Across the smiling summer sk}^ ; 

That soon was gone, and sunshine swept 
The shadow of its drifting by. 

It brought no storm ; it gave no rain ; 

And yet it left this doubt with me — 
The cloud that was may come again, 

And longer in its passing be. 



[131] 



A WHITE CHRISTMAS 

Pile the snow beside the path; 

Break the drift upon the track; 
Heart of joy for him who hath. 

Heart of hope for those who lack. 



Christmas-eve the snow-cloud lifted 

And the moon was shining down 
On the stretches deeply drifted, 

On the white roofs of the town, 
Where were houses bright and cheery, 

Where were houses dark and cold, 
Happy homes and shelters dreary ; 

Gay and sad the stories told. 
Here the little children, sleeping. 

Dream of wonders they believe ; 
There are put to bed for keeping 

Half-way warm on Christmas eve. 



Christmas morn the bells are ringing 

On the crisp air, loud and clear ; 
They are crying, they are singing. 

That depends on those who hear. 
There the children well are faring. 

Yule-tide joys have come again; 
Here the little faces staring 

At the frosted window-pane. 
[132] 



There a gentle face is glowing; 

Here another, gray and worn. 
Mother-hearts fill to o'erflowing, 

Glad or sad on Christmas morn. 

Heap the snow along the road; 

Break the drifts with plow and sleigh; 
Passage for the creaking loadl 

None shall lack on Christmas Day! 



[133] 



WHITHER AWAY, SUMMER? 

There's a chill in the kiss of the night, 

And a mist in the dawn of the day ; 
There's a sigh for the soon fading light — 
Whither away, Summer? 
Whither away? 

There's a haze on the uttermost hill, 

And a sough where the maple-trees sway ; 
There's a sob in the wind, calling still, 
" Whither away. Summer ? 
Whither away ? " 



[134] 



FOREVERMORE 

The hopes that were so fair and bright, 

Are withered all, and dead; 
And only echoes come to-night 

Of words that once were said. 
I cannot sing ; my note is stilled ; 
The voices that my soul once thrilled. 

Are hushed forevermore. 

Beloved children of my brain, 
The fondest friends I knew, 

You've left me now, and all in vain 
I call and call for you. 

You will not come to me, alone ; 

I drove you hence, and you are gone 
For me forevermore. 

Yet from the mould of flowers' decay 
Still fairer blossoms spring. 

And for my buried hopes there may 
Be an awakening. 

Nothing that is can ever die ; 

And these may blossom, by-and-by. 
To bloom forevermore. 
Forevermore I 



[135] 



DONNER'S DREAM 

'TwAs in the olden time. All that long night 
Erasmus Donner waked, until the oil 

Was low beneath the lamp's expiring light 
That told of many hours of tiring toil ; 

Until the window's gloom was turning gray, 

And chill the night grew, waiting for the day. 

Then as an arrowy glance of ruddy light 

Flashed through the casement's lozenged 
pane, it fell 

Upon the shining mystery that, bright, 
Was dripping from the rosy crucible; 

And when the drops in final count were told 

The crystal jar seemed filled with liquid gold. 

The weariness of waiting was no more. 

Then, as the coming day upon him crept, 
With that bright phial on the ledge before 

His heavy eyes, Erasmus Donner slept. 
The long, long nights of secret search were 

past, 
And Life's Elixir he had found, at last. 

Then, as he slept, it was as if he dreamed. 

He stood within a squalid room, so bare 
And comfortless that such a dread spot seemed 

A place for every soul to flee ; but there, 

[136] 



Beside a heap of rags, on which there lay 
A sottish woman, was a child — at play. 

And still he dreamed. 

Before his fancy's eyes 
A curtain lifted, and he saw within 
A chamber hung with scarlet canopies, 

A shrine where youth might learn to worship 
sin; 
A pleasure place, where life might seem to be 
One long continued dream of revelry. 

And still he dreamed. 

He saw a lonely wood 
Through which a pathway wound. Beside 
the way 
There was a strange, repellent pool of blood. 
And half within its horrid bound there lay 
A youth whose stiffening fingers clutched the 

breast 
From which the last dark drops were slowly 
prest. 

And still he dreamed. 

He saw how all the day 
A woman toiled to earn a blow at night ; 
He saw a weeping maiden torn away 

From love and hope by wealth's more power- 
ful might; -~^ 

[137] 



He saw the few rise high above the rest — 
Each step they mounted was a human breast. 

He saw a brother mourn a sister's shame; 

He saw a mother weep a wayward son ; 
He heard a daughter curse a father's name ; 

He saw the right so oft by wrong undone, 
That, in his very dream, aloud he cried, 
" If that be life, how blessed to have died ! " 

The sun shot high. Erasmus Donner woke. 
And started to his feet in dazed surprise. 

" Can that be life? " were the first words he 
spoke ; 
And, speaking thus, the phial met his eyes. 

" 'Tis Life's Elixir ! " In a moment more 

The crystal jar lay, shattered, on the floor. 

Then, as the golden sunlight brighter streamed. 
Upon his bended knees Erasmus Donner 
prayed : 

" O God ! If life can be what I have dreamed, 
Accursed is the draught that I have made. 

Let me but learn one life, that, dying, I 

May teach men how to live, and how to die ! " 



[138] 



DUST OF ROSES 

Weary-like they come, and slow 

The feet that danced a while ago. 

Lips that laughed are drooped, and sigh 

For kisses of the days gone by, 

And those sad, regretful eyes 

Hold no more than memories, 

Must hold these, like pictures seen 

On some brightly lighted screen, 

While the darkness, all around. 

Only seems the more profound. 

Who are these who sit and stare 

At the phantom pageant there. 

They are those whose feet were light. 

Lips were red, and eyes were bright ; 

Those who played with love, and thought 

But of what the moment brought. 

Till they had forgotten how 

To build, to hope, to dream ; and now 

They shall sit before the screen 

Seeing only what has been ; 

Till on memory's field of sight 

Time shall throw a last " Good-night ! " 



[139] 



THE TEAR 

The sculptor had labored a month and a day 

To mould, with skilful hands, 
The form of a god from the yielding clay. 

That still unfinished stands. 

The figure is perfect, each curve and line 
Of wondrous strength and grace, 

But the head is mortal, the look divine 
Is not upon the face. 

And the artist knows that his work is naught 

But a thing of common clay ; 
That 'twas only Talent who with him wrought, 

While Genius stayed away. 

Twin sisters are these ; so alike from birth 

That man can seldom tell 
Which is the one who lives upon earth. 

Which with the gods doth dwell. 

And the sculptor sees, and he sorrows much. 

For the lack is plain and real ; 
It needs some subtle, some dreamed of touch. 

To make the face ideal. 



[140] 



Then the woman who loves him draws tenderly 
near, 

With a kiss, and bends above 
His work, and there falls on the face a tear — 

A tear from the eyes of love. 

And the sculptor brushes it quick away, 

Too sweet for such a place ; 
And his gentle touch on the yielding clay 

Changes the modeled face. 

And the sculptor sees, with a fond surprise, 

The sought expression shine — 
For a tear of love from a woman's eyes 

Has made the clay divine. 



[141] 



FRIENDSHIP 

Reach your hand to me, my friend, 
Across that separating space ; 

To hear your voice I may pretend. 
And fancy that I see your face, 

And feel your kindly grasp meet mine 

Across the dim dividing line. 

Sometimes in the weary fight 

I can seem to feel your touch — 

Hopeful, helping, guiding right — 
A gentle force that means so much. 

Across our lives' dividing line 

Your hand is surely clasping mine. 



[14^] 



AN OLD STORY 

When Jack and Jill were young, you see, 
They met when hearts were mellow ; 

He saw that she was pretty ; she 
Thought him a handsome fellow. 

Then stroll, and talk, and moonlight night 
Were quite enough to book him ; 

His draft on love was drawn at sight. 
Face value how she took him. 

So they were wed ; and settled down 

To learn about each other ; 
And found the one that each had known 

In fact was quite another ! 

Then business so engrossed him that 

At last he simply boarded 
At home, and gave his time to what 

She left of all he hoarded. 

For she was fond of gaiety 

(In proper moderation) 
And seemed to think that life should be 

Perpetual vacation. 

His nature, somehow, never lent 

Itself to what she cared for, 
As she had lots of temperament 

Which he was ill prepared for. 
[143] 



The tale is common. You can find 

A hundred more its equal ; 
So you will quickly call to mind 

The inevitable sequel. 

And yet, perhaps, some moonlight night, 

Each feels a trifle lonely. 
For thoughts will come of what life might 

Have really been, if only — ! 



[144] 



THE REVENGE OF THE FLOWERS 

Suggested by a painting — " Die Blumen-Rache " 

The dance is done ; the hours have run 

Away in merry measure, 
For happiest things have swiftest wings 

To bring an end to pleasure. 

The lights are out ; the guests have gone, 

The birthday-ball is over ; 
The daughter of the house, alone, 

Lies dreaming of her lover. 

She sleeps. Her bosom gently swells ; 

The rosy lips are parted ; 
The ring upon her finger tells 

Whose kiss those blushes started. 

The counterpane has slipped away 
And, charmed, the moonbeams hover. 

Sweet innocence ! What star shall say 
What grace it may discover? 

The snowy linen feels the thrill 

Of each heart-beat ; 
The dimpled knees are crossed; and still 

The weary feet. 
Steal in, chill, chaste moonlight ! 
She sleeps — pass on, O night ! 
• •••••• 

[145] 



Beside her bed, upon a stand 

Of wood, inlaid with many a band 

Of silver, is a vase of flowers ; 
Exotics of a strange perfume 
Bj careful nursing coaxed to bloom 

In this far land of ours. 
Betrothal flowers her lover gave ; 
Fit for a bridal — or a grave. 

O lover ! didst thou never hear 

That even flowers have souls, and fear 

To rudely pluck them.'' 
Never.'' Ah, then thou knewest less 
Than butterfly that doth caress, 

Or bees that suck them. 
But thou shalt learn the truth, and she 
Thou lovest, in death shall teach it thee. 

Now from every blossom springs 

A sprite on wings ! 
Strange fairy-creatures seem to come 
From every calyx, and the room 
Grows heavy with the odors of the South. 
The Spirits of the Flowers are everywhere ; 
They hover near her in the heavy air ; 
They kiss her forehead, eyes, and mouth. 
" Revenge ! " they whisper as her lips grow 

pale; 
" Revenge I " they whisper as her cheeks go 

white ; 

[146] 



The moonbeams haste away in fright, 
And from the sky the misty veil 

Is drawn away, 

And breaks the day. 

• •••••• 

And when they come to dress her she is dead. 
The flowers are withered. From that bed 

They lift her but to shrive her. 
Open the window; but the morning air, 
Though it may fan her brow and stir her hair. 

Cannot revive her. 
The loving heart has ceased to beat ; 
Forever still the little feet. 
The flowers' revenge is none the less complete 

That they are lifeless there. 



[147] 



IN GOD'S ACRE 

We walk together, side by side, 

We feel the touch of hands ; 
We gaze across the star-sea wide, 

And dream of mist-hid lands. 

They leave us, and we mourn. Btit why? 

If we had only known, 
The day we thought it was " Good-by ! " 

They were, at last, our own. 



[148] 



MARGERY IN THE COUNTRY 

Song for a little lady 

Beneath the apple tree, 
A bower cool and shady 

For one so fair as she. 

The blossoms spend their sweetness — 

She takes it for her own ; 
The morning gains completeness 

Since her bright face was shown. 

A sunbeam, caught in straying 

Through branch and blossom there. 

Sweet penalty is paying 
Imprisoned in her hair. 

She laughs ; the robin pauses 

In morning-song to hear, 
Pretending that the cause is 

A thing a bird might fear. 

The squirrel, on the fence, that 
His racing home has stayed, 

Sits still, with no pretense that 
Her voice makes him afraid. 

Though by the years I'm parted 

From all that lies along 
The path her feet have started 

I still may sing this song. 
[149] 



To innocence and beauty 

Each man must bend the knee. 

As I, in loving duty, 
To Lady Margery. 



[150] 



QUATRAINS 



LOVE'S MAGIC 

Time touched her lightly, leaving but a trace ; 
Care gave her lips that softness when they 
speak ; 
Now love has wrought a marvel on her face, 
And youth returns, once more to kiss her 
cheek. 



THE TURN OF THE WHEEL 

I LAUGHED at Life; my wealth of days I threw 
Upon the game, and lost them heedlessly ; 

Now, when with trembling hands I hoard the 
few 
That still I count as mine. Life laughs at me. 

ASPIRATION 

Why should I write of doubt and dead desire. 
Seeking a stream where turbid waters run ? 

I'll light my altar from dawn's rosy fire 
And strive to be a singer in the sun. 

THE NIGHT 

A SLEEPLESS, memory-haunted night, 

Each counted hour seemed doubly long; 

Then through the darkness shone a light, 
And from the silence came a song. 
[153] 



THE TEMPTERS 

" He was his own worst enemy ! " 
Thus our companion's story ends. 

We shift the blame ; the truth is, we 
Were his worst enemies — his friends. 

HOPE 

Darkness, and haunting fear to miss the way, 

And always heavier the load, 
Till, with the coming of despair, the day 

Breaks through the night, and shows the 
road. 

EXPERIENCE 

The love you wakened was life's leaven, 
And then the death of yours befell ; 

Our meeting was a proof of Heaven, 
Our parting taught belief in Hell. 

THREE ARE COMPANY 

A LITTLE room ; a cushioned seat ; 

A shaded half-light from above ; 
A curtained door ; a silence sweet. 

And we three — you and I, and Love ! 



[154] 



UNFULFILLED 

I SENT my thoughts, like bees awing, 
Life's hidden sweetness gathering; 
Then turned away for wealth to strive, 
Nor guessed that thus I closed the hive. 

THE POOL 

Forgive me, that I dared to look ; 

Believe me that I did not see: 
The sunlight spun, from bough to brook, 

A golden veil twixt you and me ! , 

THE LIE 

He told it once, but no one heard; 

Twice, and a few received it ; 
Three times, and more caught up the word; 

The fourth time some believed it. 

FEBRUARY'S GARDEN 

Along the road, where drifts lie deep 
And creaks the sledge with sullen load, 

The wayside garden lies asleep 

Till Spring shall pass along the road. 



[155] 



GOSSIP 

'Twas born in malice; and, forsooth, 
It throve on spite, and would not die; 

The truth — that was but half a truth, 
The lie — that was not all a lie. 



VALEl 

The passing-bell tolls loud and deep 
As Midas' body's laid away; 

Pity he's dead, and cannot weep — 
They bury his best friend to-day ! 

THE CALL 

A LITTLE song was in my heart ; 

I did not guess its presence there. 
You called ; and from my lips, apart, 

'Twas born upon the happy air. 

PARTING 

I FEEL your kiss upon my cheek, 

Cold as a flake of snow, as light ; 

That, at the formal words you speak, 
Leaves nothing but a tear to-night. 



[156] 



DREAMS 

Sweetheart, will you dream with me? 
If so, then your dreams shall be 
Of yourself, because — 'tis true — 
All my dreams are just of youl 

COINCIDENCE 

I WROTE a line that seemed to be 
The best one ever penned by me; 
Till on a page I chanced to look — 
My thought was printed in the book! 

B. C. AND A. D. 

In olden days cold marble woke 

To life at words till then unknown. 

Alas ! how changed ! Of love I spoke. 

And straight my goddess turned to stone ! 



[157] 



31 W 






^o 







